James loves boobs! Especially laying down and sucking on them (sorry)
YOU ARE SO RIGHT AND YOU SHOULD SAY SO!! (No apologies necessary, yall can be as horny or wholesome as you want in my house)
(My thoughts below! As always, feel free to comment/send message/request. Reblogs appreciated!)
Yes, James is definitely a boob guy, 100%, big or small. You have small boobs? Cool, they fit nicely in his hands! Big ones? Nice, you can smother him!
Convinced this man is a switch, (NSFW alphabet incoming), and yeah, he loves to turn that big brain off after work sometimes- especially after a bad shift. He’ll come home to you, and get your top off as soon as he possibly can. (You make him wash up first, to his chagrin; hospitals are gross, and he doesn’t really mind).
Has definitely used ‘checking for lumps and irregularities’ as an excuse to have his hands on you. You let him every time. To his credit, your lovely R4 boyfriend does actually check- he’s qualified and he cares. But mostly Ogilvie just enjoys the closeness.
Whether he’s sucking on your tits, or just laying on them, James finds the action super relaxing. You don’t even have to pay attention to him all the time. Whether you talk to him about something, or put on a movie, your Jamie is just happy to be there, with you. Play with his hair, or rub his back while your at it, and the man will just melt.
(Convinced he just likes your hands in his hair, but not the point today)
During sex, I’d bet he’d love your hands in his hair, too. Holding/grabbing/tugging your boyfriend’s hair, while his mouth is on your boobs, makes him a happy man.
No matter who’s on top, James looooves having access to your boobs. If he isn’t kissing you, he’s probably kissing, biting, sucking on them. Or kissing you while holding them- best of both worlds.
At the end of the day, while he may not be perfect, James Ogilvie adores his girl, and her boobs.
Side note: if later on, after Ogilvie is a proper doctor, and everything, and y’all settle down, and get pregnant? Best believe he loves the changes to your boobs that come with; why pump when James is there for you, always eager and happy to help his girl?
Somehow, he manages to love your breasts even more when he can nurse (I feel so weird saying that but it must be said)
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My favorite thing about Brendon and Wife!Fem!Reader/Peach is that the reader has always been a bit of a weirdo and Brendon is just like “i love that weirdo and I would do anything for her.”
Even in college he’s been like that. Like when they first started dating the beginning of their sophomore year, some guy told the reader she was weird and Brendon was like “THE FUCK DID YOU SAY ABOUT HER” and had to be held back by his buddies.
Pairing: Dr. Brendon Park x Fem!Reader (nickname is Peach)
Author’s Note: Enjoy Brendon and Peach in college
Warnings: Not proofread, there could be medical inaccuracies
2007
“I feel like an arm is the most broken bone,” Adam spoke up, dipping his fries in ketchup. “I see way more people with casts on their arms than anywhere else.”
“It’s actually the clavicle,” you said.
Stephanie, Melissa, Max, and Brendon turned their heads to her.
Adam scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Watch it,” Brendon growled.
Stephanie nudged him. “Don’t be an ass!”
You waved your hand. “Guys, guys, it’s fine. Relax.” You looked at Adam. “So because the collarbone has an exposed position and doesn’t have a whole lot of muscular protection, it makes it easy for it get fractured.”
You then shrugged. “My dad had a lot of medical books in his library so I’d get bored and read some. The books on bones was the most thrilling.”
Adam blinked and opened his mouth when Brendon shut it down. “Is that the book your dad gave you when you came here?” he asked.
You nodded, excited that he remembered. “Yeah! You want to read it?”
“I actually do.”
“Come over tonight and I can show you it!”
“The fact she actually means it too,” Adam snickered.
“Yeah, well so do I,” Brendon snapped.
And he did. He laid on your bed, one armed wrapped around you while he held the book with the other.
“Chapter seven is my favorite,” you said. “It talks about how bones repair themselves.”
Brendon kissed the top of your head. “I can’t wait to read it.”
“I kind of relate.”
His eyes went to you “How?”
“Like when people say mean things to me or make comments that aren’t necessarily nice, it takes me weeks to fully recover.”
Brendon set the book down. “Including today with Adam?”
You shook your head. “That’s just how he is. But like, remember his fling from last year?”
Oh, Brendon remembered that bitch all too well and now it seemed he had another reason to hate her.
“She told me my makeup looked terrible once and since then, I’ve haven’t done it myself. Only Stephanie can do it.”
While many people would dismiss it as juvenile or stupid, Brendon was fuming that she’d even think to make a nasty comment about you.
“Ok, well, that bitch no longer matters. For what it’s worth, I always think you look pretty with and without makeup.”
“Yeah?”
“Although I think you’re gorgeous when you’re wearing my clothes.”
You shook your head. “You’re cute.”
He nodded, kissing the top of your head. “I’ve got your back, Peach. No matter what.”
“Including all 33 bones in that area?”
“Every single one.” He paused. “Wait, there are 33 bones in your back?”
=====================================
Brendon finished the book in one night, reading all of it while you slept right next to him. He found himself wanting to learn more.
“Peach, baby, wake up.”
You groaned. “What time is it?”
“It’s 9. Listen, I’m going to the library to get more books on bones.”
You blinked. In the time you’ve known Brendon, you’ve never heard him be so eager to go to the library. “You finished the book already?”
“Yea and I wanna learn more. I figure it can help me with working out and wrestling and whatnot.”
“Ok yeah! I’ll go with you.”
===============================
2016
“Impressive work back there, Dr. Park.”
Brendon looked up to see Dr. Quinn approach him. Dr.Quinn was a man that specialized in criticism, so any praise from him meant the world and more.
“Thank you, Dr. Quinn,” Brendon nodded, keeping his composure.
“That tidbit you had about the fibula was also interesting,” Dr. Quinn continued. “You seem to know quite a lot about bones.”
“I’ve studied and read a lot.”
“It shows. What started the interest?”
“My wife.”
Dr. Quinn’s eyes piqued with interest. “Oh?”
“When we first met in college, she told me about a book she always loved that was about bones. I read it because I wanted to impress her. I ended up finishing it in one night and that morning, I went to the library with her and picked out more books on bones.”
The man nodded. “She sounds like quite the woman.”
summary: you've loved bradley bradshaw for years, watching him choose well - not you for years. jake seresin loves you so much he's willing to put his needs aside to help you with rooster if that means you won't take a job offer that takes you off the island.
warnings: angst, fluff, smut (p in v, oral f recieving) bradley is kind of a douchebag, jake is yearning, jake down so bad, reader is female
a/n: first top gun fic, hope yall are still in the market
"I once heard a rumour that pretty girls aren't supposed to sit outside of a party by themselves." Jake smiles, that easy, charming smile he always had for you. "But that's just a rumour."
He slides beside you, tucked in close, passing you a beer, acting nonchalant when your fingers brush against his.
Jake has perfected the act of pretending that you're not everything he's ever wanted. But he's hasn't mastered the art of letting go. He knows, he knows that you're meant to be his, that you were made for him. He's almost positive he wished for you over birthday candles once.
"What're you doing out here, sweetheart?"
You don't answer, but your eyes lead his, landing on Rooster with some leggy redhead tucked between his legs, he smiles easily while she plays with the collar of his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt.
"He's an idiot," Jake sighs, "and you deserve better than him anyway."
You shrug.
You'd known Bradley for years. You both went to the same university, where you took medicine, becoming a doctor. You fell in love with him at school, but never tried anything, always thinking it was never the right time. But anytime you thought maybe you should move on, Bradley did something, just enough, to keep you hanging on.
Jake's eyes narrow over the ocean. He knows Bradley knows about your feelings. They've never talked about it, but how could Rooster not know.
Jake's been watching Rooster string you along for the better part of a year, and it makes him sick. How could Bradshaw just, waste away his time like that? The perfect woman, smart, funny, kind, beautiful. A fucking doctor for crying out loud - who better to be with a Navy man? Someone who understands that there's risks in life, someone that understands how precious time is.
"You should make him jealous," Jake finds himself saying, surprising both you and him.
"What?"
"You know," Jake continues, not sure where the words are coming from. "Make him jealous, make him make a move."
"Oh yeah? And how exactly would I do that? I've been on dates and he never cared, he's seen me kiss guys, and he just... he doesn't care, Jake. He doesn't want me."
Jake frowns. "I told you. He's an idiot."
"They offered me a job in Parkland Memorial Hospital in the emergency room."
Alarm bells ring in Jake's head. You can't be talking about... leaving? Leaving. Leaving!?
"I'm thinking about it - thinking space might do some good, I can finally, finally just... get over it."
"You can't just leave," Jake says, hand gripping the railing so hard one of his knuckles crack.
"I can't keep this cycle up, Jake." You look at him, his tense jaw, how his eyes stay focused at one point in the distance. There's no denying how beautiful Hangman is. Your eyes flit over to Rooster, who's pulling the girl closer. You look away before you have to see them kiss. "I'm tired."
"I'll help you," he says, and he's once again unsure where the words are coming from. But if making Rooster make a move is the only way Jake gets to keep you in his life, then he'll do it. He can't lose you. He won't. "And if it doesn't work in a month, I'm sure that job'll be there for you, or a better one."
You don't answer, and Jake takes that as a maybe.
Anything, anything would be better than you packing your bags.
The next day, you're sitting in your office on base, finishing sending in inventory for the medical supplies you need.
Not too much happens on base, anything really bad ends up sent to the hospital with you in the back of the ambulance providing care. It's not that exciting - which is good, exciting work for a doctor usually means someone is seriously injured.
But here you are, asking for more gauze and tape, and that's okay too.
A knock on the door followed by, "Hey doc," breaks you out of your trance, and Jake comes strolling in, small smile on his lips as he glides over, leaning on your desk beside you. "How are you feeling today?"
"Right as rain, Jake."
"Mmm," he mumbles, looking at the papers on your desk, before running his gaze over your face. He's noticed that your lips have been holding a soft pout for weeks, like you've given up on a dream. It makes his blood boil. He wants to fix it. He leans back a bit, arms crossed on one foot crossed over the other, and he keeps his eyes on you. "You think more about that job offer?"
You sigh, "No, not really. It's ... hard. I want to make the decision that's best for me and not base it off of Bradley." Your shoulders slouch, "but I - I just have no idea what to do. All my friends are here, I love my job."
"So stay," Jake says, "Don't run from where you are over Chicken."
For the first time, ever, you don't tell Jake not to call Bradley that. You just smile, finally looking up at Jake. He takes the moment head on, and leans towards you. One hand on your desk, the other on the back of your chair, legs spreading wide in a way that makes your breath hitch - but if Jake notices he doesn't comment on it.
"There are lots of things here that can make things better, you know."
You're so close to him.
You've never been this close to him.
No one ever understood the friendship you two have. Nat thought it was odd, the way that Jake seemed to gravitate towards you, always finding you a sea of people, like he was magnetically drawn to you. But he never made a move, never talked about you in ways he's talked about other women, never expected you to fall at his feet. And rarely ever laid down the moves he so easily threw at beautiful people. Nat noticed recently that Jake's been on a dry spell - and doing absolutely nothing to change it. Even when women threw themselves at him, he just smiled politely, and got you another drink.
Unfortunately, you saw this as platonic - how? No one knows. Everyone else can see it for what it is. Payback and Fanboy have a bet going about who confesses first, you to Bradley or Jake to you. Fanboy bet on you confessing, Payback on Jake. Coyote wants Jake to get the girl. Bob silently hopes you find a nice, stable man outside of the military because he adores you and doesn't think either Hangman or Bradley deserve you. While Natasha and Halo just want you to be happy.
"Jake, I..."
The door opens, and both of you snap your attention to the person, Bradley, obviously, walking in.
He hesitates, eyeing the closeness between you guys suspiciously.
"Sorry, am I interrupting something?"
You say no the same time Jake says yes. And you both look at each other, smiling like you're sharing an inside joke.
"Did you need something, Rooster?" Jake asks, and you hit his chest playfully.
"Come in, Bradley. Everything okay?" You ask, pushing up from the desk and gliding around Jake's arm, which makes the chair roll back and he has to catch himself, praying you didn't see that.
"Yeah..." he starts, "I just have this... uh," Brad looks at Jake. "Can I maybe talk to you privately?"
"Of course," you nod, "Jake?"
"I'm going," he rolls his eyes. "Lunch?"
"Yeah, I'll see you then."
"I'll bring you something."
Jake smiles, winking at Bradley, who is still looking at you with confusion written over his expression.
When Jake leaves, Bradley's eyes trace over you - looking for something.
"What's wrong?" you ask, looking him over for injuries.
"It's nothing just... I have a really bad sunburn on my back is all, wanted something for it," he explains, and you move to the cabinets to get some cream for him.
"I should still look at it," you say, "take your shirt off."
As he does, he talks, "what was Jake in here for?"
"You can't ask me that. Turn around," you spin your fingers, and he obeys.
"Right, yeah," he mutters, "didn't really seem like a clinical thing though."
"Bradley, stop." You look over the burn, it's red sure, but doesn't really seem that bad. With gloves on, you rub some of the ointment over it. It should make you blush maybe, but this is your clinic, and your job, and you don't take the moment as anything more than what it is. Being a doctor. "Just put this on again before bed, and in the morning if you need it. If it doesn't go away, come back. But it looks fine."
Bradley nods, but doesn't move. Doesn't put his shirt back on.
"You didn't say goodbye last night."
"Huh?" you ask, "I didn't see you all night, I didn't think I had to."
"Oh, you don't, I guess, but..." he looks down, "you usually come say bye."
"Me and Jake head out early," you explain, shrugging, indignation rising in your chest. Who was he to complain? He was wrapped up in someone else anyway... were you meant to tap him on the shoulder and wait for their lips to break apart just so you could say goodbye to someone you hadn't even spoken to that night?
"Together?"
"Yeah, he wanted to make sure I got home, I had a bit more than normal." You move to your desk, filling out a sheet to add to Bradley's file. It doesn't really need a sunburn update, but you do it anyway, for something to do with your hands under Bradley's intense stare.
"Right, okay..."
"Is that okay?"
"Of course it is, I'm just... checking in on you, that's all." Bradley finally puts his shirt back on. "Do you, are you going to the gala next week?"
"Yes," you say, instantly, too instantly.
"Me too," he says, "I was thinking we could go together."
"Oh?" your hand stills, your heart races. Is... is he asking you out? Did Bradley Bradshaw fake the pain to come to your office? Is this really happening? All these years of pining, and yearning, are they ending? You almost say yes, but then he speaks again.
"We used to go to stuff like this as friends all the time, and I thought... It would be fun to do it again, is all, better than standing around alone. My date bailed when she saw me take home this girl last night - she was so pissed off, you should hear the voicemail she left."
Your heart shatters.
It's so loud and painful you're almost sure he can hear it.
"I already have a date."
You say it before you can think about it. It comes out in a snap and you can't take it back.
"Oh," is all he says.
"Yeah," you say, trying to find the excuse out of this, you land on, "Jake asked me to go with him."
"Hangman? You can't be serious." You can practically hear Bradley roll his eyes as you tuck the paper into his file.
"Why not?"
"He's... he's Hangman!" Bradley has never raised his voice to you before, and he doesn't yell, but the tone he uses is something you've never heard directed at you as he says, "you're going to be Hangman's date!?"
"What's so bizarre about that?" you ask, turning to face him finally.
"He's not good enough for you and you know that."
You both stare at each other, arms crossed, angry faces mirroring each other. This is as close as you've come to a fight, ever. Usually you would back down, but you're... offended, on Jake's behalf. Jake has always been a perfect gentleman to you, and a great friend. He's been an amazing friend to you, actually.
"Jake is wonderful. Now if you don't need anymore medical attention, I have work to do."
You answer leaves no room to argue. Bradley leaves - without saying goodbye, one might point out, and closing the door harder than he needs to, enough to make your shoulders flinch. His attitude left a bad taste in your mouth, and you don't like it at all.
Rooster comes back to the group hot headed and ready to blow.
The air is tense, made more tense every time Jake cracked a joke, or answered a question, or did anything.
When Mav leaves them for a moment to talk to Cyclone about something, Nat finally asks what the problem is.
"Ask Bagman," Rooster mutters, rolling his eyes.
Jake scowls, "Hey, what the hell did I do?"
"You're taking her to the gala?" Rooster crosses his arms, and pouts like a schoolboy. No one has to ask who he's talking about.
An easy grin lands on Jake's face, and it only irritates Rooster more. Jake, being the guy he is, goes along with it. He never actually asked you - but absolutely would love to have you on his arm for the night. So he's all too happy to play along. He's all too happy to be your date.
"And what's the problem?" is all Jake asks.
"You're my fucking problem!"
"Well," Jake shrugs, "you snooze, you lose, brother."
Rooster is quick to anger. And pushes Jake before the others can grab him. Jake just laughs, walking a few steps back and out of Rooster's reach.
"Don't get mad at me for wanting her," Jake says, and it's earnest, he means it, they all know he does. "You just don't want anyone else to have her in case you change your mind, and honestly, Chicken? That's so messed up."
"You don't know anything." Rooster pushes Fanboy off, but he stays close by, in case Rooster lunges again.
"I know that she is special, and I know that she deserves the world. And I know that you could never give that to her, so I will." Jake glares at Rooster. "And I'll do it better than you ever could, and I'll do it fucking gladly. Because being in her orbit, well that's a goddamn honour, and I will not be squandering it like you did."
Nat and Bob share a look that says... damn - maybe Jake is the one. Everyone is quiet. Rooster is breathing heavily, jaw ticking in anger, but Jake is cool as can be, not worried in the slightest. Coyote puts a hand on Jake's shoulder, and the two share a smile.
When Mav returns he senses the tension, but he doesn't say anything about it, just gets back to business.
And both Rooster and Hangman both have you on the mind.
At lunch, Jake shows up with two meals in hand.
You're at your desk again, looking over paperwork when he strolls in, just happy to see you.
"You're in luck, Doc," he says, "they're serving your favourite today."
A bright smile crosses your face when he sets the food down. Jake hesitates, only briefly, and decides it's okay to lay a soft kiss on your hairline as he hands you your meal.
"Thanks, Jake," you sigh, "I like... I like when you come here for lunch."
His heart flips. His cheeks feel warm and he knows the tips of his ears are turning pink at your admission.
"I like coming here," he says softly, pulling up a stool to sit beside you.
"It must be nice to get away from the chaos for a bit."
He shrugs, "I don't mind the chaos, I just like spending time with you."
"Big softie," you smile.
"Don't let the others know."
A knock on the door makes him tense, but he relaxes when Nat comes into the room. He thought maybe Rooster was coming to talk you out of going with Jake to the gala.
"Hey Doc," she says, "Hey, Bagman."
"Nix," Jake says, "she's not doing walk-ins, she's taking her lunch."
You hit him on the arm, laughing. "He doesn't speak for me, you okay?"
"Oh yeah, I'm fine, I actually just came by to invite you out later. Me, Halo and some of the other girls are going for drinks later and thought you might like to come."
"Oh," you say, "that sounds great!"
"Perfect, I was hoping you'd say that." Nat looks at Hangman, who isn't being annoying, miraculously, and he's just unwrapping your food before his own, like it's the most normal thing in the world. She can't help but note how much different he is when it comes to you, and it's... endearing, in a way. "We'll swing by your place to pick you up."
"Just text me the time," you say, "I can't wait, I need a girls night."
"Anytime."
Natasha leaves, hurrying to find Bob because she needs to debrief both the fight, and Jake sitting at your table setting up your plate immediately. It was almost domestic, and she needs to talk about it.
"You know what happened earlier?" Jake asked, and you shook your head. "Rooster pushed me after finding out I'm going to be your date next week."
"He pushed you? Oh, I'm so sorry Jake, I should've asked first but it just came out," you flush, looking him over like he'd told you that he was pushed down a flight of stairs.
"No, it's okay," he smiles, "would you like to go with me? It'd be an honour to take you."
"You don't have to," you rush, "I swear, I can just tell him I was lying. I don't know why I did that."
"Stop apologizing. I'm asking you because I would like to go with you. It would be fun."
"As friends?"
Jake looks at his plate, then you. "I mean yeah, we are friends. But it would still be a date. I pick you up, I get your drinks, we dance. Just because we're friends doesn't mean you're not getting the full treatment."
Something clicks in your head.
You're not entirely sure what.
But there are butterflies in your stomach, and it just feels... easy. Like how you wanted it to feel when Bradley asked you. With Jake it's, nicer. It feels better. It feels right. You don't know what it means, but you like it. You like being around Jake.
"I'd love to."
"Good," he smiles, "now eat, before one of those knuckleheads needs something else."
Jake gets a call at one in the morning.
He wants to ignore it, but he worries that it's his mother. He worries even more when he sees your picture across the screen.
"What's wrong?" he answers, heart pumping when he hears little sobs from your end of the line.
"I'm scared," you whisper. "I got too drunk, Jake, please."
"Please what? Where are you? I thought you were with Nat?"
Jake's already getting out of bed, moving to get into the pants he discarded earlier.
"Rooster and Fanboy showed up, crashing girls night. And it was fine," you hiccup, "but then Nat wanted to leave and Brad begged and whined for me to stay, so I did. And then he disappears, like, almost immediately. And Fanboy left with a girl and..." you whimper, "and I'm drunk and I can't find Rooster. Will you, would you please come get me? I'm sorry to ask but..."
His reply comes out immediately, "I'll be there in 10, stay where the bartenders can see you." And Jake's ears ring at the name Rooster. You rarely call any of them by their call signs. But he doesn't think he's ever even heard you say Rooster. It feels like the first crack in the dream. It feels kind of like hope.
Jake speeds to get to you.
You didn't listen, maybe you couldn't have because you're stumbling, Rooster has an arm around you outside the bar, he's holding you up and doing a piss poor job because Jake can see how unsteady you look from his truck.
He puts it in park right by the door, stopped in a no parking zone and ignores the annoyed look from the bouncer, immediately coming to your side.
"You okay, sweetheart?" he asks, brushing your hair off your face and looking you over, making sure you've got your bag and assessing whether to take you home or to the hospital. Dramatic, maybe, but with you it's important. He's actively ignoring Rooster's stupid face. He keeps the focus on you, and away from Bradshaw, because he doesn't trust what would come out of his mouth.
"Jake," is all you say, practically falling into his arms and out of Rooster's.
He holds you tightly, fully supporting you and not letting you fucking wobble around.
"What are you even doing here? I've got it. I was just about to get her into a cab."
"No, I will get her home safely, since you left her in the fucking dust, Chicken." Jake eyes the girl rolling her eyes and waiting for Rooster, and his anger hits a boiling point. "What? Were you just gunna roll her into the cab and fucking hope she makes it to her front door okay?"
"Jesus, Hangman, sorry if I don't want to ruin my night just because someone else got too drunk."
"Ruin your - !? You're pathetic, Rooster." Jake catches you as your knees wobble out from under you, and he picks you up, hands braced under your knees and behind your back, holding you close as you snuggle into his chest, humming happily.
Rooster's jaw ticks at the way you seem ... comfortable, in Jake's arms. Bradley was convinced what you and Jake were doing was just ... fun, flirting. This seems... more real than he was expecting. When Jake starts walking away without another word, Rooster feels extra indignant.
"She'll never love you the way she loves me, you know!" Rooster yells.
But it falls on deaf ears.
Because Jake loves you so unconditionally that it doesn't matter. He will be what you need. Even if it dismantles him in the process.
Jake gets you settled in the passenger seat, makes sure your seatbelt is done up before getting into the driver's seat. Rooster and the girl are gone before he pulls out of the lot, but he can't think about that now, he just drives steady and slow, not wanting to make you feel any worse.
It's so irritating, watching Bradshaw act like such a loser. And he only seems to do it to you, which is just extra irritating. He can't stand it.
The drive to your apartment isn't far, he parks and makes his way to your side, fishing the keys out of your purse before hanging it off his arm, strong forearms cradling you to carry you bridal style to your door. He makes it seem easy, the way he unlocks the door and brings you into your place. He locks the door behind him, and brings you into the bathroom, setting you on the toilet, making sure you're steady before continuing his work. He puts your purse on the counter, pockets your phone, and grabs a couple make up wipes to take the makeup off. He's as gentle as can be, even when you're grumbling and groaning, about fireball and lemon drops.
"Can I have this?" you ask, fingers pinching the shirt he's wearing. "Looks mighty comfy."
"You want the shirt off my back, huh?" he chuckles, but takes it off. "Anything for you."
You hum happily, peeling your shirt off without warning, and Jake trains his eyes to the ceiling. They feel like they're made of concrete the way he has to keep them up and off you.
"All clear, Lieutenant," you say, cheesy grin on your face, but his breath hitches, and he coughs to cover it up.
"Let's get you to bed," he says, helping you up again, and letting you walk on your own.
"Thanks for coming to get me," you whisper, sliding into bed. "I got really nervous and I just... I thought you'd be a safe person to call."
"I'm glad you did," he says, tucking the blanket up to your chin. Mostly for comfort, but also because knowing you're laying in nothing but his shirt right now was an image he didn't know he'd ever be able to get out of his head. "I just want you safe and happy."
You hum in response, easing into the pillow, eyes closing and breaths already getting slower. He starts moving to leave, and you eye him again, pout on your lips. He looks like an angel, shirt off, hair messy from sleep, soft smile on his face.
"Jake?" you whisper, "will you please stay in here with me?"
"Oh uh, yeah, okay," he says, shuffling over and crawling into bed with you. He keeps his jeans on, because taking them off while you're in the bed and drunk just doesn't feel ... right.
You don't seem to mind, you just snuggle into Jake's chest, hand splayed across his abs and it makes his stomach somersault under your touch. You fall asleep instantly. Jake hesitates, but rests his chin again your hair, letting himself pretend, just for tonight, that he has you.
The night of the gala, Jake feels sick.
You look ... beautiful.
No one has ever looked as beautiful as you since... well he thinks ever. And he knows that tonight is the night - in one way or another. Maybe Rooster will confess, or maybe you'll take the job offer. Either way, Jake is probably going to lose you tonight.
But it doesn't stop him from holding out his elbow to you, smiling softly at you and leading you into the party.
Rooster can't keep eyes off of you.
His date, the redhead from the bar all those nights ago, clings to his side like she belongs there.
And you see that, but it doesn't twist you up inside.
Like, maybe she does belong there. And maybe you belong here.
Jake's been a perfect gentleman the entire evening. He holds a palm over your lower back as you laugh and chat with Nat, he grabs you a new drink as you give Bob a big hug and compliment how well he cleans up. He pulls you closer when Coyote asks you to save him a dance, making you and Javy laugh.
And then he leads you to the dance floor.
He spins you gently, just as he knows you like, he holds you close and keeps his eyes on your face as he sways you to the music.
At some point between Jake spinning you softly and dipping you at the end of the song, you realize that you're not concerned about where Rooster is. Another slow song starts and Jake brings you back up, holding a hand securely around your waist, the other holding your hand and he just dances, eyes on you the whole time, smile soft, and warm. And you realize... you're not putting on a show, you're just dancing, and you're happy, and you want Jake to pull you close again.
And he does pull you; so close his nose brushes yours and his breath, whiskey coated and a hint of spearmint gum, fans over your lips. You can’t help but feel drawn in, you want to be drawn in - you want Jake. Not as a consolation prize, not as anything other than the man he is.
“Can I cut in?” Rooster asks, startling the pair of you. “Can we… can we dance?”
"Uh..." you start, ready to say no, but Jake she kisses your hairline, and it feels like goodbye, not permission.
"Don't spin her too fast," Jake says, eyes avoiding you, "she hates that."
And he slinks away without another word, grabbing a drink and finding Coyote in the crowd - not looking back at you once, because he can't bear to see it. Coyote gives him a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder - but he's got nothing to say.
Rooster holds you the same way Jake did; but it's not as warm. It doesn't feel as... right.
"You look beautiful," he says finally, and it's no less awkward. The compliment not making you blush the way Jake's do. Not anymore.
"Thanks, Rooster."
"I don't... I don't know when you started calling me Rooster but I thought, I thought I was always Bradley to you."
"Your friends all call you Rooster."
"You're not just my friend though," he whispers, "you know that, right?"
"But I..." you start, then stop, eyes flicking to the door and you watch helplessly as Jake walks through it. Your eyes find Rooster's again and your heart plummets. Isn't this what you wanted? Isn't he what you wanted?
So why is your body desperate to go follow Jake?
"I have to go," you rush, dropping Rooster's hand, but he doesn't drop his from your waist. "Jake went outside, I want to find him. He's my date, I want..." This is the moment, the moment you choose. "I want to go find Jake."
"Is this... do you love him?" Rooster asked.
"I don't know," you answer, honestly, "but I know that he's who I want to spend the rest of my night with."
"I always kinda thought that... I always thought it would be me and you ending up together, you know? Just... I didn't realize that I love you until now."
It was all you wanted to hear.
But...
"I have to go," you whisper.
...all you can think of is Jake.
Rooster's eyes fall to the floor, his stomach sinks even lower than that. "You really do look beautiful."
"Thanks uh, Bradley," you start shuffling your dress up so you don't step on it while you're walking, "see you at work!"
When you find Jake outside, he's leaning against the wall, hand braced above his head like something is causing him pain. You clear your throat and scare him, trying not to laugh as he clutches his chest, not finding it nearly as funny as you.
He looks you over quickly, lipstick still intact, no Chicken trailing behind you.
“How uh, how did that go?”
“Rooster told me he loves me.”
Jake smiles sadly. “That is… awesome. Yeah, it is, it’s great.”
“Jake…”
“Don't say my name like that,” he sighs, “you might have to call me Hangman now, actually, you know what - you have to call me Bagman.”
“Jake...” you chuckle.
“Oh my god,” Jake mutters, heart flipping in his chest, throat tight with regret. He’s just lost what little of you he had and you insist on torturing him by saying his name so fuckin' pretty. Like you're the only one who knows how to say it at all.
“I told him no.”
This makes Jake's eyes snap to yours, and his brow furrow. “What?”
“I told him no, I told him I came here with you and,” you smile, Jake malfunctions. So you close to gap, running a hand up Jake's neatly pressed dress whites, “and I’ll be leaving with you.”
“Me?” he whispers, unsure.
“You,” you smile softly, and the corner of his lip turns into a smirk, anyone else would think it's cocky, but you know he’s nervous, you know him, better than anyone. “If you want me to.”
“Baby,” Jake whispers, hands finding your hips over the soft fabric, and they grip you tight enough to hold you steady. “I want you so badly I was willing to let another man have you just to keep you on the island.”
Your hand slides up more until your fingers are softly against the side of his face, and he looks down at you like there is nowhere else he’d rather be.
That's the difference. Rooster only wanted you because he thought he lost you, thought you would be steady and waiting forever and suddenly you weren't. But Jake... he was willing to lose you if that's what would make you happy. Jake wants you because he loves you, because he’s afraid of wasting one second with you. Like the thought of not having enough time makes him ill.
“If I kiss you now,” Jake whispers, “It's real. I want you. I want everything. All of it, slow mornings, birthdays, holidays, parents asking when they're getting grandkids, all of it.”
“It's real,” you promise. “Kiss me?”
“Yes ma'am.”
When he kisses you, it's exactly right. Like the end of a romcom where the girl is swept off her feet by the real hero of the story.
He kisses you so softly, every move intentional and reverent. He doesn't rush. Just moves his lips against yours like he's exactly where he wants to be. His hands stay steady on your waist, while your thumb rubs softly against his cheek. His tongue rolls lazily into your mouth and you moan, and you can almost feel the smirk on his mouth as he nips your bottom lip, pulling away to rest his forehead on yours.
His eyes are glassy, relieved, filled with adoration as he looks at you.
"Do you want to go dance some more, baby?"
The pet name rolls off his tongue like it belongs there, and you shake your head no.
"I want you to take me home," you say, placing another chaste kiss on his mouth. He smiles, letting go with one hand and letting the other slide around to your lower back, leading you back to his truck without a second thought. There would be a lifetime of chances to dance, but that's not what you need right now.
Right now, you just need him.
"Jake, please," you moan, hands thread through his hair as he devours you like a man starved. "Just want you."
He pulls away for a second, fingers still moving inside you, and he kisses the inside of your thigh. "Stop rushin' baby girl, we got all night. And I'm still hungry."
"Baby, baby please."
He grunts, pained to decide between drawing another orgasm out of you with his mouth or giving into your pretty, pretty begging.
He was never one to deny you.
Jake crawls up your body, trailing kisses across your stomach, chest, neck as he does, before settling comfortably in between your legs. As he kisses you, you taste yourself, and you moan against slippery lips, hands wrapped around his broad shoulders like a lifeline.
"I'll be going back for more later," Jake says, making you laugh against him, tucking your face into his shoulder.
"Perv."
"If that's what it makes me, so be it."
His hand moves between you, grabbing himself to line himself up with your centre, and he drops his head against your shoulder at the feeling. So wet, and tight, and warm - he knows he won't last. It's been too long and you're, well, his dream.
"Please," you mutter, biting into his shoulder, begging for all of him, and he sighs, pushing into you.
You both gasp, the feeling of him stretching you so perfectly, no pain, no discomfort, just two people that were made for eachother.
The movements start slow, pulling back only a few inches to push back him, he wants to stay inside you, to feel you around him the rest of his life.
And then he slowly picks up the pace, listening to your moans to find the right spots inside you, the right tempo that makes you close your eyes and arch your back. He's learning every sound you make, committing it all to memory.
Jake’s hips stutter against yours, it takes everything in him to keep his composure, to stop himself from filling you with cum the second he’s inside you.
“Baby this is… you’re a dream - baby, fuck, you’re so fucking perfect, i can’t … you feel so, so good baby.”
“Jake,” you mewl, “Jake it feels so good - makin’ me feel so good”
“Yeah, baby? You like it?”
“Love it - love you.”
Jake hips stutter again, and he stills. Large palms brushing over your forehead, moving damp hair away from your face, and his smile is soft, reverent.
“I love you too,” he whispers, slotting his lips against yours in a sensual, languid kiss, and his hips move again, slow, deliberate, controlled. "I love you so much." He angles himself deeper, hiking one of your legs over his waist and around his back, letting him sink fully into you, both of you moaning in tandem. "I'm sorry baby, it's - it's too fuckin' good, I'm not gunna be able to hold out."
"That's okay," you moan, "it's okay, let go. I want you to feel good."
"I feel so fucking good, baby."
"We have all night," you wink, "we'll go again."
He doesn't need anymore coaxing, he stills inside you, spilling deep, groaning against the curve of your neck, the vibrations sending a chill down your spine. He doesn't move, stays locked deep inside you, fanning kisses along your neck.
Eventually, he pulls out, and he hisses with over sensitivity. In his wildest dreams, this is always where he ends up, wrapped up in you. Not even just the sex, but the closeness of having you near, of being able to kiss you as he pleases, of not having to worry about needing his hands on you.
As you lay tangled in the sheets, your hit with a moment of clarity. Of everything you must have been putting Jake through the last week, and it feels akin to how you felt. His steady breaths a comfort you didn't know you needed, and you nuzzle closer into his side, with him happily making room to draw you in closer.
"I'm sorry," you say, guilt gnawing at your heart.
"What for?"
"For..." you sigh, "For asking you to help me with Rooster, I... I wish I fell for you in a better way, I wish it wasn't sullied by the drama."
"It's not sullied," he says, rolling over to face you, hand sliding under you to hold your cheek, thumb brushing over the curve of it. He smiles. "I don't feel like a second choice, I feel so, stupidly, insanely happy. I do not care how we got here, I'm just happy we're here."
"Are you sure that you won't, resent me?"
"I would do anything for you," he says after a moment, "I don't care that you used to love Bradshaw, I don't. I love you, I loved you unconditionally, and patiently, and it all worked out. Love is messy, baby." He kisses your nose. "Love you," he kisses your forehead, "love you," he kisses your cheek, "love you."
And he kisses you fully, slowly, pouring every ounce of love he has to give into you. And you sigh, content, comfortable, madly in love with Jake fucking Seresin of all people, with his cocky attitude and boyish grin that makes you feel alive. He fills your cup. He leaves room for you on busy days. And he never, ever strings you along for anything, ever. To him, you are the only feasible answer. To him, you are everything.
And to you, he is what home feels like. He is where warmth stems from. He's not just exciting, and handsome (so fucking beautiful really) but he's sturdy.
You pull away first. "I love you, Jake."
He just smiles, and brings you in for another kiss.
And another.
And another.
And then he groans as he rolls back on top of you, ready to promise you forever.
But you're both happy to start with tonight.
The rest of your lives can come one day at a time. And you'll face them all together.
bonus: epilogue
Rooster nurses his drink while his date talks his ear off about, what exactly? He doesn't even know.
His eyes drag back over to you, as they have all night, as has everybody’s, and he can't help the sigh that leaves him. You're a vision in white, the most beautiful bride anyone has ever seen.
And he's not the groom.
Hangman is.
Rooster looks at his date and feels a mix of resentment and guilt. She’s perfectly lovely, in a dress that exactly fits the theme and colour scheme, and she’s been kind to all of his friends. But she's not you.
He looks at you again, and watches Jake pick you up and twirl you slowly, holding you close to his body. Rooster's stomach drops the same way it had at the gala all those years ago.
Then Jake kisses you. Rooster clenches his jaw and looks away quickly. His date follows his previous line of sight and she sighs, finishing her drink and excusing herself.
Rooster doubts she’ll return to the table.
He doesn't care.
Just takes another sip of his drink, watching miserably and wondering how this even happened.
How Jake stole you away.
How Rooster didn't notice until it was too late.
But on the dance floor, Rooster hasn’t entered Jake’s mind once. His thoughts were completely consumed with you, trying to memorize exactly how you look, right now, at your wedding, to him. This is the best day anyone has ever had.
“I love you, Bagman.”
He laughs, head thrown back and carefree, enjoying what will one day be considered one of the greatest highlights of his life.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Overall Warnings: Thoughts and mentions of suicide. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Emotional hurt/comfort. Mental illness and mental health. Language. Crying. Ambiguous ending. Low self-esteem. Low self-worth. Established relationship (older man/younger woman trope; unspecified age gap). Ambiguous ending. Whatever else I failed to mention.
Author’s Note: I do not own The Pitt in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I don’t own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
Word Count: 2,551(ish)
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The world would keep turning.
It wouldn’t stop simply because one person disappeared. It wouldn't hesitate, wouldn’t mourn the slightest shift in its rhythm. The sun would still rise. Ambulances would still scream toward the emergency department. Patients would still come through the doors needing help, and doctors and nurses would still answer the call.
Life would go on.
It always did.
You stood at the nurses’ station, your hands resting against the cool countertop as your gaze drifted across the department. Families hurried through the waiting room with anxious expressions. A child laughed somewhere down the hall before being hushed by an exhausted parent. A patient was discharged with a relieved smile while another was wheeled toward imaging. Phones rang. Monitors chimed. Someone called for respiratory.
The emergency department never stopped moving.
You watched it all with distant eyes, as though you were standing behind glass instead of in the middle of it.
Your fingers absentmindedly traced the worn edge of the counter, picking at a nick in the laminate until your nail caught against it. You barely noticed.
This was what you did.
Assess the patient.
Order the labs.
Page the consult.
Call surgery.
Call medicine.
Repeat.
Again.
And again.
And again.
You’d done it thousands of times—so many that your body moved on instinct while your mind wandered somewhere far beyond the fluorescent lights and antiseptic air.
You couldn’t remember the last time you’d looked forward to coming into work. Somewhere along the way, medicine had stopped feeling like a calling and started feeling like an obligation. One more thing you had to survive before dragging yourself home to an apartment that felt too quiet and a bed that never seemed to make you feel rested.
Wake up.
Get dressed.
Grab coffee.
Go to work.
Go home.
Sleep.
Then do it all over again.
The routine had become suffocating.
Sometimes you caught yourself wondering if anyone would notice if you simply...weren’t there one morning. Not because you thought you were irreplaceable—God, no. If anything, you were painfully aware of how replaceable you were.
Someone else would pick up your patients.
Another resident would take your shifts.
Your locker would be cleaned out eventually.
Your name would disappear from the schedule, and after a while, a new one would take its place.
The department would adapt.
It always adapted.
You’d spent so much of your life trying to matter—to patients, to coworkers, to friends—that somewhere along the way you’d forgotten what it felt like to matter to yourself.
Lately, it felt as though you existed only in the spaces between everyone else’s lives.
Useful.
Convenient.
Forgettable.
You swallowed against the tightness in your throat, forcing your expression into something neutral as another chart was placed in front of you.
Another patient.
Another room.
Another chance to pretend you were okay.
You reached for the chart anyway.
Because that was what you did.
Keep moving.
Even when it felt like the rest of the world had forgotten you were moving with it.
* * *
By the time the end of your shift rolled around, everything had blurred into one endless stretch of fluorescent lights and ringing monitors.
You couldn’t remember half the conversations you'd had. Faces came and went, blending together until they were little more than passing shapes. Every movement felt automatic, every word rehearsed. Your body knew exactly what to do, even if your mind had checked out hours ago.
It was like watching yourself from somewhere just beyond your own skin.
You spoke.
You charted.
You smiled when it was expected.
You comforted frightened patients and reassured worried families with practiced ease, all while feeling strangely disconnected from the person saying the words.
Your voice sounded like yours.
It just didn’t feel like it belonged to you anymore.
You blinked hard, trying to dispel the haze clouding your thoughts.
“You doing okay?”
Trinity slid into the chair beside you, already logging into the computer. Her tone carried its usual dry humor, casual enough that most people would've brushed the question aside.
You almost did.
“Long day,” you answered, offering a small smile.
It felt wrong on your face.
Too practiced.
Too effortless.
Like something you’d perfected after years of pretending.
She hummed knowingly. “Joys of the emergency department.”
A quiet breath escaped you—something that almost resembled a laugh before it disappeared altogether.
Silence settled between the two of you, broken only by the clacking of keyboards and distant overhead pages.
“You’ve got the next few days off, right?”
You nodded without looking away from the chart in front of you.
“Maybe,” you murmured. “Nothing Jack planned.” Your throat suddenly felt tight. “It’s more of...a me thing.”
Trinity raised an eyebrow. “You? Trouble in paradise?”
You managed another smile.
It hurt more than it should have.
You and Jack had been together for less than a year.
Less than a year of quiet mornings, exhausted smiles exchanged across the nurses’ station, coffee waiting for you after impossible shifts, and the gentle certainty of someone who never seemed to ask you to be anyone other than yourself.
He was everything you’d ever wanted.
Patient.
Steady.
Kind.
He listened more than he spoke. He never made you feel small. Never talked over you. Never laughed at your mistakes. Even on his worst days, he somehow found enough of himself to make sure everyone around him was okay.
Especially you.
So why couldn’t you understand what he saw?
The question had become a constant hum in the back of your mind.
What did he see?
Why you?
Out of everyone he could have chosen...
Why you?
Jack was experienced in ways you couldn’t imagine. Confident without arrogance. Compassionate without letting it consume him. He walked into impossible situations every day and somehow made people feel safe.
You still second-guessed yourself before every difficult conversation.
You still replayed every mistake long after everyone else had forgotten it.
You still lay awake wondering if everyone at work secretly regretted having you on their team.
Compared to Jack, you felt unfinished. Like you were constantly trying to catch up to a version of yourself that didn’t exist.
You loved him.
God, you loved him.
That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that every morning you woke expecting to discover that he’d finally seen what you saw every time you looked in the mirror.
Someone forgettable.
Someone difficult to love.
Someone who was always almost enough, but never quite there.
You waited for the moment he’d realize he’d made a mistake. That he’d confused compassion for love. That eventually he’d look at you with clear eyes and wonder why he’d ever chosen you in the first place.
It hadn’t happened.
Not once.
Jack never treated you like you were a burden. Never made you earn his affection. Never gave you a reason to doubt him.
The doubt came from somewhere much quieter. Somewhere that had long ago learned to turn every kindness into pity.
Every compliment into obligation.
Every “I love you” into something that surely came with an expiration date.
You looked down at your hands resting on the keyboard.
For a fleeting moment, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d believed you deserved the life you’d built. Or the people in it.
The thought settled heavily in your chest, familiar enough that it no longer surprised you.
You closed the chart, forcing another smile when Trinity glanced your way.
“I’m fine,” you heard yourself say. The words came as easily as breathing.
You weren’t sure when they’d stopped feeling like a lie and started feeling like part of the routine.
You hardly registered the look Trinity sent your way.
The slight furrow between her brows.
The faint downturn of her mouth.
She was studying you, you realized distantly, like she was trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
You couldn’t bring yourself to care.
Your thoughts had already wandered somewhere else, pulling you under before you even realized you were slipping. The emergency department buzzed around you in its usual rhythm—phones ringing, stretchers rolling past, nurses calling out room numbers—but it all sounded strangely muffled, as though you were hearing it from underwater.
Night shift would be coming in soon.
Which meant Jack would be here.
He always arrived early.
He’d once told you he liked having a few quiet minutes before the department exploded into controlled chaos. Time to settle in. Check the board. Read through the charts. Finish his coffee before someone inevitably interrupted him.
You’d teased him relentlessly for it.
“You’re the only person I know who voluntarily comes to work early.”
“I’d rather be ahead of the chaos than chasing it.”
That was Jack.
Steady.
Prepared.
Always moving forward.
Even when life had given him every reason not to.
You admired that about him.
The way he always seemed to know where to stand in a room.
The way people naturally gravitated toward him, trusting him before he’d even spoken.
The quiet confidence that never tipped into arrogance.
He made impossible situations feel manageable.
He made frightened patients feel safe.
He made everyone around him feel seen.
You wondered what it was like to move through the world with that kind of certainty. To wake up without immediately questioning whether you belonged. To believe, even for a second, that you were enough exactly as you were.
You’d spent so long trying to become someone worth keeping that you couldn’t remember who you’d been before.
Every compliment felt borrowed.
Every achievement felt accidental.
Every good thing in your life carried the quiet, persistent fear that someone would eventually realize they’d made a mistake.
Jack hadn’t.
Not yet.
The thought didn’t comfort you.
It terrified you.
Because if he still looked at you with that same softness after all this time…then eventually there would come a day when the illusion broke.
When he’d finally see what you saw.
Someone ordinary.
Someone exhausting.
Someone who needed far more than they could ever give back.
Your chest tightened.
You glanced toward the ambulance bay doors without thinking, almost expecting him to walk through them already.
A part of you always relaxed when you saw him.
Another part immediately wondered how long it would last.
How much longer before he grew tired of carrying someone who always seemed to be one bad day away from falling apart.
You dropped your gaze back to the computer screen before the thought could settle any deeper.
The cursor blinked patiently in an unfinished chart.
Waiting.
Just like everything else.
* * *
Jack liked to think he was perceptive.
Years in the Army had taught him to notice the things other people overlooked. A room that had gone too quiet. Someone whose smile didn’t quite reach their eyes. The subtle shift in a person's posture before they lashed out or shut down completely.
It wasn’t foolproof.
God knew he’d missed things before.
But he’d gotten pretty good at reading people.
Which was exactly why you confused him. Something was different. He’d noticed it weeks ago.
At first, he’d chalked it up to exhaustion. The emergency department had a way of grinding people down until they barely recognized themselves. Long shifts, impossible decisions, patients you couldn’t save despite doing everything right—it wore on everyone eventually.
He knew that better than most.
Still, this felt different.
It wasn’t one big change.
It was a hundred little ones.
You smiled just as often.
You laughed when someone cracked a joke.
You still checked on your patients with the same gentle patience that had made him fall for you in the first place.
You still kissed him goodbye before leaving for work.
You still texted him to make sure he’d eaten.
Nothing had changed. And yet, everything had.
It was there in the spaces between moments.
The way your eyes lingered on nothing at all before someone called your name.
The way conversations seemed to take an extra second to reach you, as though you were swimming back to the surface every time someone spoke.
The way you’d apologize for things that didn’t require an apology.
Asking him a question, “Sorry.”
Taking too long to answer a question, “Sorry.”
For existing in the same space as everyone else, “Sorry.”
He wasn’t even sure you realized you were doing it. The words slipped out so naturally they sounded rehearsed.
Like breathing.
Like something you’d been practicing long before he’d ever met you.
It made his chest hurt.
Because no matter how many times he told you that you had nothing to apologize for, you always smiled apologetically anyway, as if you didn’t quite believe him.
Jack knew trauma.
He knew PTSD.
Hell, he lived with it every day.
There were nights when the weight of getting out of bed felt heavier than the prosthetic waiting beside it. Mornings when sleep refused to come because his mind insisted on replaying memories he’d spent years trying to bury. Days when he felt guilty for surviving people who hadn’t.
Depression wasn’t unfamiliar either.
He knew what it felt like to move through life carrying something invisible. To become so accustomed to the weight that you almost forgot it wasn't supposed to be there.
Which was why this unsettled him so much.
People thought depression always looked obvious. Sometimes it did.
Sometimes it looked like Robby.
The anger.
The sharp tongue.
The self-destructive streak hidden beneath sarcasm and misplaced confidence.
Robby wore his pain like armor. It wasn’t hard to tell when he was struggling, even if he insisted he was fine.
You were different.
You woke up every morning.
You got dressed.
You showed up to work on time.
You took care of your patients.
You charted meticulously.
You smiled at coworkers.
You laughed at Trinity’s jokes.
You called your parents.
You remembered birthdays.
You kissed him hello.
You looked fine. So painfully, frustratingly fine.
If someone had asked Jack how you were doing, he’d probably have said you were just tired.
Burned out.
Maybe overworked.
Maybe in need of a vacation.
Reasonable explanations.
Comforting explanations.
The kind that let people sleep at night.
Except every instinct he had kept whispering that those explanations didn’t fit. Not completely. There was something behind your eyes he couldn’t explain. Not sadness. Not exactly. It was quieter than that. Like a light slowly dimming one degree at a time. So gradually that no one noticed it until they couldn’t remember how bright it had been before.
Jack found himself watching you more than he meant to.
Waiting for the moment the pieces finally clicked together.
Waiting for something—anything—that would explain why the woman he loved suddenly felt just a little farther away every day.
He hated that he couldn't name it.
Hated that every instinct told him you were hurting while every piece of evidence insisted you were okay.
And somewhere deep in his chest, beneath years of training and experience and hard-earned survival, a familiar fear settled in.
The fear that by the time he figured out what was wrong, it would already be too late.
Brendon would unironically refer to it as “your womb” when he is berating you to take care of your reproductive health better. That’s not just your body. That’s an investment in your future- your family. But yeah. More importantly. Your health comes first.
Titus Danforth is a bit stunned by how much he loves his children. Yes, he assumed he'd care for them as they are his heirs after all...
He doesn't anticpate he'll love them though...like genuinely fully love them with his whole chest.
Titus Danforth is selfish after all. People never fail to remind him that he is a petulant brat who only cares about himself. He has been told that he has no good in him.
His wife seems to disagree, but he's certain his wife is an outlier when it comes to his ability to feel affection.
He falls for his wife on the hunting field when he witnesses her take down a man twice her size with all the grace of a capable killer.
He works hard to woo her after witnessing that hunt, and though he's certain her father is not pleased with the age gap between Reader and himself, Titus manages to not only gain Reader's affections but take her hand in marriage.
He loves his wife.
So, he guesses it should make sense that he loves their children.
He doesn't anticipate the love he feels though.
He feels himself cry when his first born is placed in his arms and he's shocked by the tears. He stares down at his newborn and is certain he'd not only kill for them but he'd burn down the world for them.
The feelings are the same with each child born after that.
The Danforth children are the apples of Titus' eye. They get every little thing they want.
His daughters have hand crafted intricate doll houses, little miniature versions of the Danforth family estate. They have tea parties with real china. They have a massive collection of stuffed animals and always seem to acquire more.
His sons have more legos and hot wheels than any child should reasonably have. Reader has to talk Titus out of buying an actual dinosaur skeleton when his sons have a dinosaur phase.
The Danforth children are permitted to interrupt any business meeting Titus may be having or any serious meeting he's having with the high council.
There have been more than a few occurrences of a child entering the room during a serious meeting and Titus reaching down and pulling the kid into his lap without missing a moment of the meeting,
He's rocked and bounced cheerful chubby little babies in his arms while discussing the logistics of the latest hunt to honor Mr. Le Bail. He's discussed kill pits and goat sacrifices while cuddling a drowsy sweet baby in his arms.
Titus carries pictures of his children in his wallet.
Titus trains his babies to hunt because they will survive and will be victorious on the hunt.
Titus would shatter the bones of anyone who dared to lie a hand on any of his children.
The man is overprotective to a dangerous extreme.
Titus does everything in his power to be nothing like his own father. He does not raise a hand to his children. He tells them he's proud of them every day. He tells them what fine Danforths they are and how they bring honor to their family name.
When his kids reach the teenage phase where they want to argue with him and push his buttons, Titus is beyond frustrated...even more so when Reader points out they get their impulsive tendencies and stubbornness from him.
Even when there's slammed doors and snark thrown at Titus, at some point during the night Reader will find the man sitting with the teenager he was bickering with just earlier in the day looking at a photo album from when they were babies and acting as though they weren't at each other's throats hours ago.
Titus Danforth might be a petulant brat, but the man does genuinely love his babies.
Titus might do anything to gain power, but his wife and children make him want to gain that power all the more.
His family deserves to have anything they want. Titus intends to make sure his place on the high council ensures his family will have everything they deserve.
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I need to know what Dr. Park was doing during S1. I'm rewatching now, and after the ED handled patients from the shooting, they sent them to orthopedic surgery, and hearing that literally triggered something in me like a dog. Pls, pls, pls I need a fic 😭
Brendon relaxes on his couch, still in in scrubs, after a long shift of being annoyed, waiting for his sweet girlfriend, you, to arrive.
Truthfully, you have been waiting all week for this moment. With the stressful week from patients coming in noticeably not wearing their retainers or not brushing their teeth, you needed help from Brendon.
Brendon waits some-what patiently, bouncing his leg and checking your location every few minutes, or seconds.
Once you finally arrive, Brendon ushers you to his room.
“M’kay. c’mon, strip.” Brendon watches you excitedly slide off your clothes. While you lie down onto his bed, he’s pulling out a pair of latex, blue gloves and a stethoscope. He puts the stethoscope around his neck like it’s a second nature.
Once you’re comfortable on the bed, you watch him pull on the gloves. Your hips squirm, anxious but excited.
The gloves snap comfortably against his hand. He sighs at the familiar feeling. He glances over at you laid down.
“No. You know how this goes. Sit up on the edge with your feet up.” Brendon grunts out, impatient. You scramble obediently to listen, now exposed. Brendon gives a short nod, approving. He walks back to his closet, pulling out a short sliding chair. He sits down with a small grunt then slides right in front of you.
He eyes your wet cunt and slowly reaches out, spreading your folds like he’s examining. You let out a small whine, watching his sharp eyes. Brendon presses against your clit, letting out a small hum. You gasp upon feeling the cool rubber touch your most sensitive spot. Brendon keeps one hand still spreading you open. The other hand that was touching your clit slides down. He uses two thick fingers and slides them into your weeping hole. He curls his fingers, like he’s searching for something.
Your hips buck up and squirm immediately. you let out a choked sob that is immediately cut off by Park.
“Uh uh. Stop moving. I’ve got to check.” Brendon’s free hand goes behind your thighs and holds your hips down. You seemingly whine louder, already nearing the edge. “Why are you so squirmy? I’m examining. This isn’t meant to be sexual.” Your walls clenching around his fingers.
You come with a loud cry, your hips squirming finally. Brendon sighs happily and slides his fingers out of your hole, wiping them onto a napkin on his bedside.
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People are shocked when they realize that Park the Shark the scariest surgeon in Pittsburgh is super into gentle parenting. His own parents were very harsh, and authoritarian and he always swore to himself that he'd be different with his own kids.
He firmly believes that strict authoritative parents create anxious kids who want to hide things. He knows because he was a nervous wreck growing up and never felt secure enough to open up to his parents or go to them when he screwed up.
He's not close to his parents as an adult and fully blames their parenting style for that.
When Reader and he decide to have kids he's very into reading about parenting styles and looking into all the case studies on parenting methods.
He firmly views his kids as being deserving of respect and thinks they are smart enough to be reasoned with and made to verbally understand discipline when they misbehave.
He cringes at the thought of the corporal punishment his parents gave him. He thinks that timeouts and grounding are more appropriate and teach lessons better than threats of violence.
People are dumbfounded that Park speaks to his kids so calmly and softly. He might have a stern tone but there's clear care and concern there.
People expect Park to be super militant with his kids and be just as short and mean as he is with his residents.
Park is quick to point out that his children aren't training to become surgeons so of course he's not being a dick to them.
